#not on a tape but still ON A CD!! THEY BURNED IT INTO A CD!!!!!!

[asfdhgsdkjhgb]

MY GIRLFRIEND MADE ME A FUCKING MIXTAPE FOR OUR ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY 😭

[arielluva]

the cd burner i ordered arrives tomorrow!!! (technically today) ooh ill finally to burn a cd!!! my parents always did it for me but now i finally can yippee

my utena cds reawakened my love for cds after like 3 years of barely using them... it feels like im returning home from the war (spotify) to my beautiful wife (physical media)

[krash-8]

oh fuck oh shit oh fuck oh shit life really is beautiful little you was right oh fuck oh shit oh f

[aph-estonia]

the worst thing ever is trying to talk to someone my age and we get on the subject of media and then it goes into physical media and i'm like "so i really likes cds i collect them & i burn music onto them" and then the other person is like ????? you still use cds ???????? YOU ARE SICK IN THE HEAD!!!!!!!!

[sapi-o-phobia]

Remember it’s called “burning CDs” for a reason

They’re hot asf

HOLD THE LINE!! KEEP PUSHING!!!!!

[binsito]

disk

pairing: bangchan x fem reader x perv!changbin (somewhat?? on accident lowkey? LOL)

synopsis: changbin was asked by his friend chris to help load boxes on to a truck since he would be moving into a new apartment. the last thing changbin expected was for one of the boxes to be filled with some cds?

word count: 1.6k

rating: mature, includes: unprotected sex, swearing, spit, fingering (f receiving), usage of handcuffs and gags although not heavily described, usage of the word "daddy" in a sexual setting, "kitten" and "cockslut" are used once, "babygirl" is repeated throughout, creampie, breeding (did i even write it if it's not a breeding kink fic..), chan big cock, changbin perv, voyeurism, masturbation, very very minimal assplay like literally one sentence, usage of a camera.. um yeah!

changbin knew it was wrong..

changbin knew he should've left the box alone but his curious little fingers were moving quicker than his mind could stop them.

he was helping chris move apartments, his friend asking if he was available on the weekend because he could use an extra pair of strong hands.

he loved his friend, so of course he agreed and came over to help.

chris had everything neatly packed for the most part so the process was moving steadily. changbin figured he'd skip the gym tonight because the act of lifting heavy boxes and bringing it to the truck was incredibly tasking.

chris had asked him if he was hungry, that he would treat him to some burgers, who was changbin to turn down some yummy free food for his hard work?

so his friend told him that he would be right back, letting him know there were still some beers in the fridge that he could help himself to.

he walked over to the fridge and cracked open a can, sipping it and taking a deep breath. he didn't have much to do while he waited for chris so he had decided to grab any boxes that were still left and bring them over to the door so they could load them up quicker.

most of the boxes that remained were left in the hallway leading to his room, however there was one particular box that caught his attention, it wasn't fully taped shut and peeking at him through the small crack of chris' bedroom.

changbin didn't mean to be nosey but he had found himself walking towards it. he should at least help his busy friend out by properly taping and securing the box right?

to his surprise, the box was full of cds.

he picked one up and looked at it carefully.

were these music cds? did chris make these? were they demos or unreleased stuff he'd stashed away? how many of these were recent or from his high school days? did changbin just hit a goldmine of beats and ideas? he was going to kick chris' ass for not sharing these with him.

and changbin didn't quite know why he did this, but he found himself pocketing one labeled with what he assumed was the date it was created. he knew he shouldn't take his friend's stuff but chris was so overly critical of himself.. he probably threw these in a box to be forgotten and changbin wasn't going to let that happen. he knew that whatever chris cooked up in his studio was going to be amazing and he was itching to hear what this was.

soon enough, chris came back and changbin had since left the box alone, anticipation boiling in his tummy over what might be on the disk

chris had brought him the burger he rightfully deserved and they chatted together until it got late, changbin bidding his friend goodbye and letting him know that he was available to help whenever so that they could finish up.

the one thing on his mind as he drove back home was the cd, how it felt like it was burning through his clothes, how he was dying to finally know what it was. it was the first order of business he would take care of once he was situated with his laptop.

parking his car and running up the steps to his apartment, trying to unlock the door but in the process dropping the keys and chuckling at how excited he was.

he kicked off his shoes and made his way to his room, sitting at his desk and turning on his laptop, he couldn't contain himself, bouncing his leg as he inserted the cd.

however, to his surprise the file didn't come up as audio, it came up as a video file.

he had no idea why, but he thought maybe chris had recorded a process video in the studio or something, you should never question one's creative process, after all.

he clicked on the file and let it load, watching as it started to play on his screen.

it was chris, his face closed in on the camera with a concentrated look on his face, eyebrows slightly furrowed as the tip of his tongue stuck out from the corner of his plump lips. it seemed he was trying to adjust something about the camera before he picked it up, letting out a soft laugh once he finally figured it out, adjusting the focus before flipping the camera.

"kay kitten.. daddy's fixed it. show me how good you are for me, hm?" the camera zeroing in on you, positioned on his bed with your face pressed into the mattress, hands cuffed behind your back as chris gave your ass a tight squeeze, spreading your cheeks to let the camera capture your wet cunt.

"cunt's looking perfect.. so tight babygirl.. daddy's not even sure if you can take his cock.." he purrs

you have, so many times, but it was always such a nice stretch, chris loved seeing how your cunt would struggle to fit him, so tight it felt like it might reject him.

from outside of the camera's view, he collected saliva in his mouth to spit it out on your cunt, his fingers collecting it and pressing it inside of you, two of his knobby fingers scissoring you open, your cunt fluttering as squelches were picked up by the camera.

"so fucking wet.. you think this is wet enough for my cock baby? think you're ready to take me? look at that face.." he pointed the camera towards your face, revealing that he had gagged you with a cloth around your mouth.

all that could be heard were muffled pleas and moans, you were aching to have him inside you, nothing could compare to how his cock filled you.

he angled the camera down to capture how his fingers had since left your cunt and were now tugging on his cock, head an angry red and leaking precum. he gave himself a couple of squeezes, his cock twitching up, ready to plunge into you.

changbin couldn't believe what he was watching.

what he had thought was possibly a demo was none other than a sex tape. his cock straining against his jeans as he watched his friend line up with your cunt, hearing his breathy moans and grunts as he let curses sputter out. "shit.. greedy cunt.. sucking me right in. never satisfied with just the tip.. always gotta have the whole thing, huh babygirl? gotta have daddy's cock all to yourself."

he reached over to untie the gag, drool dripping from your lips as you whined, feeling him inch deeper and deeper within you.

changbin couldn't help it.

couldn't help the speed in which he threw his pants down, boxers following suit as he watched intently, hand beginning to tease his balls as he watch his friend set a steady pace.

"gonna stuff you full of cock.. such a cockslut.." chris said through gritted teeth

he gripped you by the cuffs, using it to hold on to as he fucked into you, trying his best to keep you in place for him. you were a babbling mess, moaning his name out like it was the only word you knew.

in moments like this, it truly was the only word you knew. nothing else was on your mind except the heavy drag of his deliciously thick cock.

and changbin felt he would cum when chris showed how your bodies connected, how his cock disappeared into your slick hole, pulling out to the tip just to slip in right it with minimal effort. it was like your cunt was made just for him, crafted to take his cock whenever he pleased.

changbin tried stroking himself to the pace chris had set, eyes glued on the way his friend thumbed at your asshole, you letting out a whimper at the feeling, so sensitive to his touch there.

"fuck. easy babygirl, don't clench on me like that.." he groaned as he felt your walls clamp on him, begging him to breed you, to leave you dripping with his cum.

so you clenched on him again, earning you a harsh slap on your ass cheek as he grunted, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing loudly.

the tips of changbin's ears were burning, thighs shaking as he tried to calm down but as soon as he saw you come undone on chris' cock, he lost it. his fingers becoming sticky with his cum as it shot out rapidly, barely giving him enough time to react as he made a mess all over himself and his chair. chris following suit in the video, pulling out slightly just to let his cum trickle down your thighs.

"i think this tight pussy can take some more.. hungry little pussy..wants to be bred by daddy, huh?" he said, his voice faltering from the intense orgasm.

changbin quickly closed his laptop, cutting the video off short, breathing out and leaning back in his chair. he knew he should return the disk inconspicuously the next time he went over to chris' place, but would he even notice one little cd was gone? seemed he had a whole collection..

what if he returned this one and swapped it out for another? these videos were meant to be watched, weren't they?

he was sure chan wouldn't miss one cd out of the many he seemed to have stashed away.

changbin would keep this one all to himself.

his little reward for being such a sweet friend.

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 12: Hidden Fucks and Hidden Girlfriends

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

A/N: two updates in one day because i'm nice like that

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter:

Word Count: 7.8k

-----------------------

It’s odd, House driving you to work after everything. He doesn’t object when you rifle through his small binder of CDs and slip one into the stereo. Instead, he smiles slightly, lips tugging up.

You’re in your own clothes for the first time in what feels like forever.

Yes, you wanted to tear out your hair because your apartment was currently undergoing a preliminary investigation for violating a dozen health codes. Yes, you wanted to rip out House’s hair because he had reported it.

But at least Pops, seeing the flyer taped to the building and the cautionary tape across the small path leading to it, had gotten your belongings. Or what could be saved, at least. House was right, there was mould growing on the backside of your paintings, your cabinet, and even your beloved Ikea desk. But still, Pops had packed up what little things you had managed to unpack since moving in, and drove them back to House’s apartment; the alternative was emergency housing provided by the state, which you think would have worse health violations that your apartment and Chernobyl combined.

Pop had come bearing gifts too. When House had opened and nearly flung the door shut in his face, Pop had shoved a pot plant into his hands and told him to be grateful it wasn’t another fist. House, for once, had simply shut his mouth and stepped aside to let you greet Pop in a big hug.

Now, your boxes took up a corner of House’s living room. You didn’t want to ask what it meant- now that you were finished with the medication and officially lost your excuse for being House’s unofficial roommate. You didn’t want to ask what it meant that you were still living in his house. In his space with him. Sleeping in his bed with him. Asking would mean you drew his attention to it, which might make him realise you were in fact still living with him, and might make him reconsider that fact. Asking would mean that the past few days that you had spent, fucking each other, making each other cum again and again, might not have happened. So, you simply left your boxes taped up and sitting in the corner.

Maybe you should draw up a tenancy contract and make him sign it, so that way you had some stability. That is what the smart, logical voice in your head tells you, while it also screams at you to find your own apartment- never depend on a man, it tells you, much less House. You tell it to shut up, to let you enjoy this for however long it lasts, and simply reach a hand across the space between you two to rub along House’s thigh while he drives.

He doesn’t ask you to stop, but he pulls into a secluded part of the hospital car park when you arrive instead of his reserved spot, and kisses you until you’re breathless and having to drag yourself away from him to make sure you’re on time.

“You’re sure we can’t go in together?” He asks, eyes trained on you and his thumb smoothing along your cheekbone.

You shrug. “Hell, why don’t I wear a sign that says “House’s little lapdog” and you can walk me to Cuddy’s office where we admit to inappropriate workplace relationships?

“Sounds good to me. I think you’d look great in a collar.”

You shoot him a glare and he leans in quickly before you can pull away in annoyance to place a kiss against your lips. It eases the furrow in your brow, but you still shake your head.

“I go in alone.” You say sternly, and with as much professionalism as you can when you’re conspiring to hide the fact that you’re fucking your boss. “You can wait for fifteen minutes and then join us, all but annoyed to see my healthy return to work.”

He scowls. “Fifteen minutes? Babies in cars die in less time.”

“Good thing you’re not a baby then, and it’s also 40 degrees today. Plus, I’m sure you can occupy yourself for fifteen minutes.”

You tilt your gaze down to his pants, straining against him after your morning make-out session, and his gaze follows. In the brief distraction, you open the car door and slip out, whispering a quick “Bye!” to him.

You’re nearly tackled when you walk into the office.

Cameron clings to you like a koala to a tree, a stream of words rushing out of her mouth.

“I thought you were dead! Or that you hated us all after the ball or had thrown yourself under a car or thrown House under a car but then Chase said he ran into you and I couldn’t believe it and you were sick oh my god and this whole time I was worried you hated us when you were just ill and I’m a doctor how did I not see-”

“Cameron!” You hold her biceps, pinning her to the spot. “I’m okay, and yes it’s great to see you too.”

She just hugs you tightly before finally detaching herself, stepping back. “So you’re not dead? And you don’t hate us?”

“No. And no. Although helping Cuddy was pretty stupid, it’s whatever.”

She gives you a remorseful look, and you feel as if you just kicked a puppy. She doesn’t grovel more like you thought you might, instead flicking her head back to the kitchenette. “I got you a coffee. And a donut. Or maybe three.”

You smile, nodding. “Apology accepted.”

Behind her, Forearm and Chase are already sitting at the table. Foreman offers you a smile and a nod, but he never seemed one for apologies, and instead remains sitting and sipping his own coffee. Chase however, stands up and walks over to you, wrapping his arms tightly around you. Again, you’re struck with the thought you had at the fruit market, of how tall and warm he was.

Cameron is the one to clear her throat, and Chase steps back, a bashful smile across his face. He scans over you as if looking for any signs of illness, any signs that you’re not alright, but he finds none.

“Glad to see you back.” He says softly, and it holds a warmth to it that has the back of your neck heating up.

“Thanks. Glad to be back.”

Foreman snorts. “You sure? House is still here, lurking somewhere.”

Cameron winces, probably hesitant to discuss House with you after you had such a blowout with him at the ball. Instead, you try your best to not blush fully, thinking of his hands and his shoulders and his sheets around you and his legs wrapped around yours and-

Your brain automatically forces you to laugh just before your silence gets awkward. “No, no it’ll be fine. We… talked it out.”

You hope that your words don’t hold any obvious innuendo for the ducklings, but to your horror, Chase nods.

“Yeah, Wilson told us.”

“W-what?” You try to swallow the saliva in your mouth and instead your throat is dry and cracking.

Chase grins. “He said you slapped House, quit and House still asked for you to come back.”

Your heart stops beating out of your chest, and you chuckle softly, trying to feign calm. “Oh, yeah.”

“If Chase did the first part, House would have castrated him.” Foreman points out.

“If Chase so much as thought about slapping him, House would have castrated him.” Cameron adds, leaving the both of them, but not a sulking Chase, to chuckle.

You laugh, and slip over to the kitchenette, biting into one of the donuts Cameron had gotten you. You smile, both happy to have sugary goodness, but happy to see the three of them, squabbling and fighting like nothing had happened, even if your world had been flipped on its head recently.

You’re about to take a second bite when someone calls your name, and you quickly place the donut back to the plate as if it burned you.

Cuddy smiles at you from the glass doorway. It’s no flashy, toothy smile, but one that holds a serious note.

“I think we should talk.” Her voice isn’t domineering but still, authority clings to her tone.

Something curdles in your stomach, the same feeling when a teacher scolds you after perfecting your behaviour.

You will yourself to not succumb to it, to not bend under the shame of potential wrongdoing, to not break under Cuddy’s gaze.

You square your shoulders. “Yeah, I think we should.”

She gives the smallest tilt of her head, but simply smiles again and turns on her heel. She leads you through the hospital to her office, and you fight against the jittery nerves building up in you.

She sits at her desk, and you sit in front her, the perfect schoolgirl sitting on leather office chairs, prepared to be ripped by the principal. You count to six, breathing in, and count to six again, breathing out. Everything in you tells you that you should be apologising or diminutively shrinking, hiding from her gaze and whatever onslaught she has prepared.

Cuddy breathes in sharply, and it whistles through her nose slightly. “I’m glad to see you’re back. But, what happened the other week was-”

“I’d like to talk first. I have something I need to say.”

Cuddy blinks in surprise at your interruption, and you feel shocked too. But she is quick to close her slack jaw.

“Of course. Go ahead.”

You steady yourself, nodding. “What happened the other week was unacceptable.” Cuddy nods her head in agreement until your gaze turns sharp. “What you did was unacceptable. It’s one thing to put me in mandatory counselling, but another to bribe my boss to take me to a work event and lie to me about it.”

Her lips are in a thin line, but she doesn’t object so you continue. “To get everyone wrapped up in the charade was humiliating and embarrassing. My personal life is none of your concern, and you shouldn’t be meddling in anything but my work. I should have expected it from House- but I didn’t expect something like that from you.”

You huff, your small tirade finished and a silence falls over the two of you. For a beat, you think you’ve just ruined your career with one speech and you should be grovelling for her to pretend she was deaf, but then she nods. Her black hair sways with the motion, and she does it again, raising weary eyes to yours.

“You’re right. What I did was inappropriate, and a mistake. I’m sorry, even if it was coming from a place of concern.”

You let out a breath stuck in your lungs. “Thank you.”

Her lips tug up. “I’ll pretend there’s no security footage of you slapping House, and we’ll call it even?”

You laugh, giddy with surprise that she had discovered that. “Email the footage to me, and we’ll call it even.”

She sticks out a hand, smiling. “Deal.”

You shake her hand, lips tilting up.

She sits back in her chair and tilts her head, observing you with no shame. Her lips draw out into a line as she contemplates and she heaves a sigh before speaking again.

“It was a place of concern. You’re a fantastic doctor, and I know House has been hard on you. But you also…remind me a lot of myself.”

Now you blink in surprise. You, reminding Cuddy of herself? You, in all your crinkled slacks and frizzled hair?

“I was young, and I didn’t believe I deserved what I had- my job, my respect, my…love. Even if he hides it, I know House well enough to see that you bring out something better in him.” Her blue eyes pin you to your chair. “And I think you’re blocking yourself from that kind of happiness, because that’s what we’ve been told as intelligent women. That we can’t have it all. That we are intimidating to men and as such, the only focus we should have is on our careers. I just wanted to push you in the right direction.”

She must think you’re about to spit fire at her, mistaking your confusion for ire, because she quickly raises her manicured hands in an apologetic defence.

“That’s the last I will be speaking of it. It’s your personal life, and you are your own person.”

You smile robotically, thinking that must be the right response in this scenario, but your head races. Does she look at you now, and see herself years ago, following her footsteps that have led her to this very office? The actions that had led her to power, but ultimately solitude?

You smile again because you can’t think of what else to do, and rise out your chair, heading out of her office.

Cuddy lets out a shaky breath, and you startle with the thought that this might be as nerve racking for her as it is for you.

You think of her words the whole walk back to the diagnostic office, and the hours pass by in a flurry. House simply doesn’t show up for the morning meeting, and it eats away at you. Forearm quickly steps into his position, updating you on the case they were working on, and directing you to do a biopsy of the patient’s liver.

Hours later, you’re covered in what would make a petri dish scream, tired, and aching. All this time off being sick, and work was the hardest part of it all.

You’re content to fling yourself into an armchair in the break room, and rot for thirty minutes, but as you walk by a closet, your elbow is quickly pinned and you’re wretched inside.

You yell out but a hand slaps over your mouth as the door swings closed. Your knee is halfway through the air, about to inflict damage to this person’s grandkids, when you register who is holding you. House grins and lets go of your mouth.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You hiss, looking around. It’s a supply closet, with a shabby desk-turned-storage unit in one corner, and mops and buckets adorning the other. A bulb flickers overhead. He slides his cane under the door handle.

“It’s a crime to miss you, now?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s a crime to shove people into janitor’s closets, yeah.”

He grins, leaning in closer. “Different bylaws here. The case wouldn’t even make it to court.”

“What’s actually going on?” You look in his eyes, looking for something off, something that tells you there’s a red laser beaming at his back and this is all being surveyed by a blackmailing sniper.

“I missed you.” He reaches up, cupping your face. His thumb rubs circles along your cheekbone.

“Yeah?” You blush, looking up at him.

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

He smirks, leaning in and placing his lips to yours. It’s sweet and soft, and your hand reaches up to wrap around his shoulders. His hand smooths over your cheek, stroking the skin and you lean into his touch. When you tug at his hair softly, the kiss shifts from this domestic, easy, slow joining of your lips, and turns rabid. He nips at your lip, and you press yourself against him, chest to his. His tongue swipes against your teeth and you open yourself up to him. You’re both panting, and his hands shift to push at the small of your back, keeping you pressed to him.

You pull back, and his lips a soft, swollen red. You run your hand along his jaw, smooth from where he shaved this morning.

“How much did you miss me?” He asks, lips tugging up at the corner.

You grin at him, pushing his shoulders until he steps back, pressed against the wall. You lean closer, hands running along his shoulder and the joining of his neck. You place a soft kiss to his neck, trailing up and down, and he leans his head back, sighing in agreement. When he scoffs, mockingly saying this wasn’t much, you nip at him, and suck a mark onto his neck.

“Hey!” He hisses, looking down at you.

“What’s wrong?” You bat your lashes at him, doe-eyed.

“You don’t want us walking in together, but you’ll do that?” He scowls, but there’s no real ire. “What’s next, you’ll leave some lingerie in my pocket?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you roll your eyes. “No, I’m not doing that.”

He looks like he’s about to pout, so you lean up, placing a chaste kiss to his lips. He smiles like he’s drunk, and his hands rub a smooth line down your back.

“Just a bra?” He smirks. “You had such a pretty one this morning.”

He slips his hand under the collar of your shirt, toying with the strap of your bra.

“House…” You warn.

“What?”

“We’re at work.” You say softly, and his lips tug up like a wolf smiling at a little bunny.

“Tell that to my poor neck.”

You smile, eyes darting down to the red mark. “Say you tripped and fell on your cane. Something believable like that.”

“I have impeccable coordination.” He smirks down at you. “It’d be more likely that Wilson attacked me.”

“That works too.”

His fingers snap your bra strap, and you hiss. He mouths Sorry but a glint in his eyes tells you its payback. His other hand reaches up, and unbuttons the top of your blouse.

“House.” You hiss. “I mean it, we’re at work.”

“So? I’ll wait five minutes after you leave, and I won’t make a peep.” At your silence, his gaze snaps to yours.

“Who’s gonna get you in trouble sweetheart?” He looks at you mockingly. “Your boss?”

“HR.” You bite. “Cuddy. Any single person that respects me.”

“Aw,” He tsks, and unbuttons the next button of your blouse. You glare at him, but you don’t reach down to stop him, and he knows. “Afraid they’re gonna think you’re sleeping to the top?”

You blush, and even though he had been joking, he grins wolfishly. He leans in, eyes dark. “If they know you reached this high up, you’re doing something very right.” You scoff, looking away, but he reaches up, pulling your chin to make you look at him. “I mean it. C’mon, show me how good you are at it. How good you are for me.”

Your eyes flick back to his, and your tongue darts over your lip. “You could have just said you want a quickie in the closet.”

He clicks his tongue. “Would that have worked?”

“Yes.” You say, throwing your arms around him and kissing him again. He leans back with the force of you, but is quick to readjust, his hand reaching between the two of you to unbutton your shirt completely while he kisses you back. You moan softly against him when your shirt falls to the floor, and his hands grope over the lace of your bra.

He steps you back, and together you do an awkward shuffle. You pull back, laughing, and he smiles at you, walking you back until he leans against the desk. He turns, swiping his hand over the discarded junk, and clearing a spot.

He sits on the desk, and you step between his thighs, kissing him again. His hand fumbles at your pants.

“Fuck.” He hisses. “You couldn’t have worn one of those tortuous skirts today?”

You smile, nipping at his mouth and reach down, unbuttoning and unzipping your pants. “I only wear those when I have clinic.”

His hand reaches down, palming at his crotch and he groans, closing his eyes. “Damn, you’re making me miss the clinic. How is that possible?”

You squeeze your legs together at the sight of his, palming himself to the thought of you. He opens his eyes, and tugs at your pants. “Come on, Newbie. Prove that you’ve got what it takes. Might be a promotion in it for you too.”

You swat at his shoulder. “That is so not funny.”

He smiles. “You’re right. We’ll start small, and I’ll make you my second in command.”

You roll your eyes, but reach down, sliding your pants down your legs and stepping out of them, kicking your flats off in the process. He watches you hungrily, and he pats his thigh, settling back until he leans against the wall.

You raise your eyebrow at him, and he scoffs. “What, you want the cripple to climb onto your lap? Didn’t take you for such an ableist, but if the shoe fits.”

You’re tempted to throw your shoe at his head, but instead you kick a crate closer, using it to step up in front of him. It’s awkward and he chuckles beneath you as you clamber atop him, until finally you sit, straddling him (after you’ve elbowed him once accidentally, and twice on purpose in the process).

His hands settle at your hips, gripping the soft flesh. You glance down between the both of you.

“This isn’t fair. I’m practically naked.”

He shrugs. “Well, I don’t look so good without a shirt on.”

You’re about to protest and call his bluff, when he leans forward, mouth sucking onto the cleavage that spills over the cup of your lacy bra. Your hand rest on his shoulders for support, and you arch your back, pressing your breasts into him. He groans beneath you, hips rutting up into you. Just the sound of him has you grinding down onto his lap, and his hands tighten at your hips, digging into them. He can mark you anywhere he likes below the collar.

He realises it too, because he sucks a dark spot onto your breast before trailing up and stopping at your collarbone, nipping and biting and sucking at your exposed skin.

You roll your hips against him, panting. “Thought this was supposed to be a quickie?”

He drags his gaze from your covered breasts back to your eyes, painstakingly so. “Mm, but these are so much fun.”

“Yeah,” You grind down against him, feeling him harden in his pants. “But I’ve got twenty minutes tops until someone comes looking for me. You’ve trained your lackeys too well.”

“I hate when I do that.” He sighs, looking up at you with faux sadness. “Well, since you’re really twisting my arm here.”

One of his hands retreats from your hip to instead pull down his zipper. You smirk, brushing his hand aside and reach between the two of you to tug his cock out of his slacks. You pump him in your hand, and he groans, tightening his grip against you.

“Fuck.” He hisses when you pool your saliva and spit into your hand, returning to pump him up and down. He bucks into your hand, but it’s a bit awkward, pressed so close and trying to jerk him off.

That’s the excuse you use when you pull your panties to the side and line him up between your folds. You roll your hips, coating him in slick and he shudders in a breath.

“Already so wet.” He groans, low in the back of his throat. “All that for me, Newbie?”

“Let me do this for another minute and see how long you last, House.” You snip, and he looks up at you pleading.

You take pity on him, and raise yourself up slightly. You grasp the base of his cock, now hard, slick and weeping at the top and angle him to your entrance. You notch him there for a moment as you reposition, letting your arms fall back to his shoulders. His hands find the dip of your waist and he looks up at you, mouth open slightly.

You smirk, torturing him by drawing the moment out longer and not moving an inch. He realises what you’re doing and scoffs, opening his mouth to spout some expletives, when you lower yourself down over his cock.

It stretches, and burns, and you gasp atop him. Still, you push yourself down slowly, and he looks up at you, soaking in every reaction you give him. When you feel the fabric of his pants against your arse, and that snug, tight feeling of all of him pressed into you, you sigh contently.

“C’mon pretty girl.” He drawls, fingers pressing into your side. “Prove it.”

You grin at him, raising yourself up, dragging yourself against his cock until only the head is in you. You slam yourself back down, easier this time and he groans, eyes closing for a moment.

“Be quiet.” You chirp, leaning in to whisper at his ear. “Don’t want anyone hearing us.”

You raise yourself up, bouncing down on his cock just to make him groan again, louder this time. You bite against his neck softly, and bounce yourself on him. He stretches you with each movement, and when the initial pure bliss ebbs a bit, he focuses again, hands urging you up and down, up and down, as you ride him.

Your knees dig into the desk, and your thighs strain, but the burn, the pain, the tremor starting in your legs is delicious, and you keep bouncing yourself on him.

“‘T’s so fucking good, House.”

You bite your lips in a moan, and he takes it upon himself to draw it out of you.

“Yeah? C’mon show me how good it is.”

You’re not so much bouncing on him anymore as much as he’s fucking into you, thrusting his hips up and guiding you back down over his cock again and again.

He wins and you let out a whine, feeling the slick wetness dripping between the two of you, and likely staining his pants. He eases back, and you groan, shifting to bear more weight onto his shoulders as you pull yourself up and down, up and down, each time the head of his cock dragging at your gummy walls, notching slightly against that spongey spot in you.

“See? You’re doing fantastic.” He growls, rutting up into you. “Riding this dick like you were fucking made to.”

You clench at his words, and he lets out a low groan. “You like that? You like being told you were made to ride me? You do it so fucking well sweetheart. Such a good slut for me.”

You ride him harder, moaning into the crook of his shoulder. His hands smooth over your back, arching you against him. “There you go baby. Fuck, maybe after we’re done I’ll show Wilson how good you are, hmm?”

You murmur against him, and he grasps your hips, rolling you back onto him in a harsher movement. “That’s what good little sluts do- you said you’re sleeping your way to the top, huh? Wilson’s next. See who else wants a fucking piece of you.”

He angles himself harsher, his dick pressing right against that spot inside you, and you moan out. He does it again, and again, a wicked grin on his face, and you moan against him. One of his hands slips between you both, reaching down to circle at that bud of nerves.

“Fuck, House.” You moan, arching into his touch.

“C’mon baby, tell me how much you want it.”

“Please,” You whine, grinding down onto him, feeling him slide in and out, in and out, each time dragging against you, settling you onto the base of his cock and slamming you back down. “Please, House, make me cum.”

He coos at you. “So polite when you want to cum on my cock. Need to sit you on it all the time, no more of that bratty attitude.”

He rubs circles onto your slick clit, messy and loose. “I’ll have you sit on me in meetings, skirt up to your fucking waist. Let everyone see how nice you can be when you’re not desperate for dick.”

You moan against him, and your movements shudder. He fucks up into you, groaning and rubbing at your clit with more purpose. You moan, muffling your sounds against his shoulder, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

“Go on sweetheart. Cum on my cock, go on, baby. Take what you need, sweetheart.”

Sweet and fucked out of your brain, you do as you’re told, moaning against him as your orgasm washes over you in jolts of electricity. He bounces you on him the whole time, fingers not leaving your clit.

“There you go baby, good fucking girl.”

When the bliss subsides and you come back to earth, he’s still making you ride him, moving your hips up and down over his cock. The drag is fucking beautiful, and feels so much more after your orgasm.

“Fuck.” He groans, and you bounce yourself up and down him, invigorated as you chase his high.

“I’m nearly there, baby.”

“Yeah?” You sigh, leaning forward to kiss him. You reach a hand up, cupping his face. “C’mon House. For me, please.”

His breath is shuddering, and you keep a constant, brutal pace atop him. His lip grazes yours, both of you breathing onto each other.

“Where? Baby, fuck, where?”

You kiss him again, pressing closer to him, drawing his body against yours, slamming your hips against his. He doesn’t need an answer, his hands at your waist, dragging you up and down as he meets your movements with his own.

You want to hear him, want to have that sound carved into your brain, but the little part of logic remaining in you forces you to kiss him like your life depends on it, muffle the long, deep groan he lets out as his hips stammer, stilling. You keep moving even when you feel him pulse in you, even when his muffled sounds become more drawn out to a whine, even when his hands grip at your waist to slow you. You take him for every last drop he offers you, drawing it out.

When you do slow, you sit on his lap, breathing heavily, face pressed to his.

“Did I prove it?”

“Fuck.” His voice is wrecked, and he lets his head fall forward to your shoulder.

You laugh, feeling the sweat on your skin cool in the air. “Did I make you speechless, House?”

He just wraps his hands around your clammy back, not flinching, instead drawing you closer until you wrap your arms around him too.

“Did fucking amazing, baby.” He looks up at you, blue eyes electric. “I think I died and came back.”

You grin, chuckling. “I think you must have knocked your head.”

He shakes his head, leaning up to kiss you. When he pulls back, his lips tug up. “Fuck a promotion- do that again and I’ll make sure you get Cuddy’s job.”

You roll your eyes, unwrapping your arms from his. You take one of his arms in your own, angling his wrist to glance at his watch. You look back at him, smiling. “That’s time.”

He scowls. “This hospital depends on me- they can give us ten more minutes.”

You pull yourself off of him, his softening dick falling back to his stomach. The peak of your thighs is slick and you gingerly pull your panties back over it while he tucks himself into his pants.

“Help me down.” You look at him, pouting.

He rolls his eyes, but he offers his hands to you as you clamber off him, setting your feet to the floor.

You blush deeply looking at the mess on his lap. He follows your gaze and shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Whatever?” You swat at him, reaching down to grab your blouse and button it back up. You shoot him a look. “What are people gonna say seeing that?”

He shrugs. “That you’re sleeping to the top.” You glare at him, and he raises his hands in defence. “We are in a literal supply closet. I think I can find something to clean myself with.”

You grab a packet of body wipes off one of the shelves, and throw it towards him. He catches it perfectly, raising his brows in a cocky smile. You walk over to him, standing between his legs again.

“Do you need some help, House? ‘Made such a mess on you.” You take the packet from his hand, grabbing one out, and reaching forward.You look up with wide, innocent eyes.

His eyes are dark and his throat bobs. “Yeah.”

“Yes, what?”

His nostrils flare, but his eyes dip down to you, pantless and with your blouse clinging to you. Looking fucked out of your mind.

You expect to hear yes, please, but instead he groans, pushing off the desk. He wobbles on his leg for a moment, but his arms are steady as he spins you around, sitting you on the desk now. You give him a confused look, and he simply bends down, eyes on yours the whole time, gripping your hips to shift you closer to the edge. His hands grip your knees, spreading you wide. He pulls your slick panties back to the side, and you hiss as his tongue swipes broadly across your centre, hot and heavy.

He’s not desperate, or punishing. He simply licks against you, groaning softly each time you let out a soft whimper. His hands grip at your legs, keeping you spready. Your hands wring through his hair, tugging at his scalp. He just keeps lapping at you, cleaning you of everything you gave him and everything he gave you. You muffle your moans against your hand, and your orgasm shakes over you. You buck against his mouth, but he doesn’t budge, licking you through your orgasm, and then lapping up that wetness.

When he does pull back, you’re trembling. His mouth is slick with you, his hair pulled at. He takes the gentle cleaning wipe from your hand, that you somehow had clenched in your palm the whole time, and finishes the job, cleaning up any residue between your thighs. He tugs your panties back into place, and grins at you.

“Thank you, what?”

You roll your eyes, but you still mumble out, cheeks beet red with embarrassment. “Thank you, House.”

He cups your face, and you lean into his touch, his hand melding to your skin. He leans in, kissing you gently, and you taste yourself against him. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours, gazing down at you, tenderly.

You push him back gently, sliding off the table and tugging your pants back up your legs. You smirk at him as you slip your shoes back on, smoothing your hands over your hair.

You grab the cane from the door and pass it back to him. His fingers linger against yours, and your eyes dip down to his stained pants.

“Wait five minutes, right? Good luck with that, House.”

You spin on your heel and slip out of the closet, laughing softly to yourself at his scoff you cut off with the closing of the door. You straighten your blouse, and try your best to pretend you weren’t still riding the high he had given you, and get back to work.

——————

When you arrive to work early the next day, adamant that you should catch the bus by yourself and not risk any suspicion, you’re so preoccupied in shaking out your jacket, wet from the light rain, that you don’t even register a person standing right beside the glass office until you bump into their back.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You blurt out, even before they turn around to look at you.

A beautiful woman smiles at you, and there’s a familiar tilt to her lips that reminds you of someone.

She looks a bit out of place here, her black pantsuit too smooth to be a ruffled family representative of a patient, but too the buttons undone at the top a step too close to revealing to be hospital management.

She brushes back her dark hair, and huffs out a chuckle.

“No harm done, sweetheart.”

You blink at the term, looking down at yourself to double check that you were in fact wearing your Doctor’s coat, and not appearing like some teen that had wandered off from their parents.

You remind yourself to nod politely, and you move to step around her. She clears her throat however, and it stops your movement, and you look towards her expectantly.

She offers a bashful smile. “Do you know if Greg is around at all? Or is he off, hiding somewhere?”

You must look as confused as you feel at her words because she speaks again, eyes dipping down to scan you like as a specimen as she does so. “I mean House. Is House here today? Or hell, even Wilson? It seems that the two of them are avoiding me.”

You blink, shifting on your feet. “House should be here today.” You cast a glance into the office, where House’s desk sits empty, and the three ducklings are trying obviously to not look towards the both of you. “If I see him, did you want me to let him know you stopped by, Miss…”

“Stacy Warner.” She says, smiling and offering her hand out with a point of professionalism.

You shake her hand, trying to match the firmness of her grip.

“And yes. If you see House, let him know that I need to talk to him. And that I won’t slap him, this time.” Stacy says, her voice laced with mirth that tells you she’s familiar with House and his antics.

“Sure thing, Miss Warner.”

You both smile to each other, but you can feel her gaze follow you as you step into the conference room. By the time you turn and look at the glass divider, she’s striding down the hallway.

Cameron looks at you with wild eyes, and you nearly step back. In response to her conspiratory whisper, you sit in your chair at the table and lean closer to her.

“What did she say!?”

You shrug, confused. “That she wanted to see House. Why?”

“Fife!” Chase sputters, and you turn your gaze to him. He continues chewing one of your donuts and you reach out to give him a light slap to his wrist.

Foreman rolls his eyes, sipping his coffee. “What Mr Greedy over here is trying to say, is that was House’s ex-wife. Fiancee. Girlfriend. Something.” He says, ominously.

Your stomach sinks and you try to stop yourself from blanching. “Oh?”

Cameron nods, whispering as if House had everything wired- it was a possibility. “Yeah, she’s come around a few times. Wilson told us they were together for a few years and then she left him.”

Chase, finally having managed to swallow your food, speaks. “Yeah, and that he’s still in love with her. No wonder you couldn’t get freaky with him like you wanted.” Chase wriggles his brows at Cameron, and despite her flaming face she reaches over smacking him with full force. “Ouch!”

Foreman’s lips tug up and he shakes his head. “Do it harder next time.”

Chase sputters, aghast at Foreman’s betrayal. “What!?”

Once again it descends into fighting, and Cameron even lands another slap to Chase’s arm.

You try not to sound too desperate for information, or nauseous like you feel when you speak up. “So, what, are they getting back together?”

Cameron huffs, seemingly exhausted from the energy it takes to put Chase in his place. She scrunches up her nose though, as if the thought of House in a romantic context disturbs her now. “She’s married now but…I doubt it would stop either of them.”

Foreman tuts at her. “Wow, that’s a lot coming from the person who wouldn’t have stopped from HR.”

Your stomach sinks, a cement block tugging down all your organs with it. Cameron however laughs off his words, rolling her eyes. “I just mean that from what Wilson says, they were both mad for each other. And House is still obsessed with her.”

You’re going to vomit. You feel every part of you that House has touched light up in shame and embarrassment.

Foreman’s eyes flick to yours. “You alright? You don’t look too good.”

A laugh bubbles out from your nervously. “Yeah no, yeah I’m fine.”

Chase pats you on the shoulder. “It’s alright, we all get disgusted thinking of House ever having a girlfriend- the torture that poor woman went through.”

You laugh, this time trying to seep in more confidence to the noise. Cameron chuckles with you, but Foreman still watches you from the corner of his eye, unconvinced.

You don’t see House all day, and not even Wilson. Only when it’s three hours past your lunch break, and you have found a chance to slip away and scoff down a sandwich you had packed yourself do you see House for the first time.

You drag your eyes from your sandwich in the glass meeting room, back to him, sitting at his desk and in serious thought, judging by the harsh draw of his brow. Sandwich. House. Sandwich. House.

You curse yourself a little bit, walking over, and pushing open his office door.

“Not now, Wilson.” He doesn’t look up, scowling.

“I’m about to- Oh.” His lips tug up, and he sits back in his chair, easing into the fabric. “Newbie.”

“Hey.” You smile, your cheeks dusted with pink.

“Hey.” He echoes back, smirking.

You step forward. “I didn’t see you today.”

“Really?” He looks perplexed. “If I recall correctly, before you caught the bus we were about five minutes away from testing the suspension of my car by having you ride me til-”

You clear your throat, shooting him a look, and tilting your head to the glass office that was putting everything you did on display. This wasn’t some dingy supply closet, this was like a zoo display that invited all sort of observers.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s 4PM. No one’s at a hospital at 4PM.”

“Really?” You laugh. “Everyone’s at a hospital at 4PM.”

He stands up, limping closer to you. “Well, Cuddy’s not. She had a conference at 2.”

“So?”

“So,” He says, reaching you and grinning as his arm slips to your waist. “We can test the suspension of my desk.”

He tugs you closer, and you tell yourself to resist, but instead your feet follow his. He sits against his desk and draws you between his knees, hands splayed across your waist.

You want it to stay like this. For him to keep looking up at you with that drunk look, for you to keep throwing caution to the wind, for only the mingling of your breaths to be heard in the office.

Instead you blurt out. “I ran into Stacy today.”

“Oh.” His hands stop their movement against your waist. “Well I hope you knocked her over too.”

The last half doesn’t ease the tension as he tried to, and instead it feels like a weak attempt for him to sway away any thought of serious discussion.

Your breath is shaky. “Everyone was saying you were still in love with her.”

He swallows heavily, and looks away from you. You take a step back, and his hands drop from you to grip the desk.

“Is it true?”

His gaze flicks back to yours, but there’s an iciness held within it that wasn’t there a minute before. “What, do you believe everything people say? Chase told everyone that ducks were actually small geese. Do you believe in that avian ‘fact’ too?”

You frown, seeing through his diversion. “Answer the question, House.”

He pushes off the desk, grabbing his cane and standing now to face you. “What does it matter? Why do you care?”

“Don’t do that. Not after everything.” You scoff, shaking your head.

“‘Everything’? We’re sleeping together, Newbie, not discovering the meaning of existence.”

He barks out a bitter laugh. You bite your lip and his eyes zero in on the movement. “We’re only sleeping together. What does it matter if I love her or not?”

You’re unattached to your body, and instead all you are is your aching heart. “Because House, you might be proficient in prostitution culture, but for some of us ‘only sleeping together’ actually means something.”

He throws his hand up, like he was scolding an insulant child. “I told you at the start, that this was just sex.”

You stammer. “Well, yeah but-”

“I didn’t know it was that good to make you fall in love.” He sneers, and you know with the venom in his tone he’s expecting you to cry, to lash out at him, to storm off.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, House.” You spit.

He steps forward, scoffing and looming over you with a scowl etched onto his face. “Can’t help it- you were the one humping me to Timbuktu.”

“Yeah, and what did you have to do in your car by yourself this morning?” You glare at him, speaking to him with a tone you would use on a horny, uncontrollable teenage version of House.

He should be scoffing again at your, and replying with some witty retort. But instead, you see his eyes drop down to your lips, back to your eyes, and down to your lips again. And then he’s leaning forward, wrapping an arm tightly around you and dragging you into him as he latches onto your mouth. It’s a mess of his tongue and yours and gnashing teeth and none of it is smooth or perfect but it’s angry and brash, a clashing of mouths in a heated argument where each of you tells the other to piss off with a swipe of your tongue. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and the other goes to the back of his head, pressing him into you and scratching against his scalp.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your face. You feel flushed and near lightheaded with how little you were breathing.

You want it to stay like this. Instead you speak.

“When we kiss, do you think of her?”

It’s your words that tumble out of your mouth, but the sound of them out in the open hits you like a tonne of bricks.

He looks at you disgusted, and it stabs you in your chest. “We’re not fucking married. It doesn’t matter if either of us want someone else. We’re not exclusive.”

You unwrap your hands from him, letting them rest limply against his chest in between the two of you. “It doesn’t?”

“No.” He snaps. “It doesn’t.”

You take a step back, and this time he doesn’t breach the distance. He just watches you, annoyance etched into his face, as if he was in disbelief you could think anything different.

“Good to know.”

Your voice doesn’t wobble or waver. You were no longer going to let yourself break because of the man in front of you. You just smile at him, tipping your head to him like you were just another employee thanking their boss.

He seems like he’s contemplating replying, but you turn on your heel and walk out of his office.

[manicpixiefelix]

Whatever you do, don't envision Reader and Felix driving a vintage convertible through the Tuscan countryside. Top down, wind in their hair, the scent of lemon groves, music playing from the radio.

Perhaps they're on their way to a private party or they're ditching one 🤭

Felix and Reader are holding hands or he's got a hand on their thigh, loving the way they look so carefree.

(stumbling out of my inbox covered in fluff: i don't know where this came from)

There's no prying eyes in moments like these, no-one to perform for, no performers masquerading as his friends or friends of the family trying to steal his attention. Its all on you, and you've never performed for Felix the way the rest of the world has.

He loves you for it.

He loves you for many reasons, of course, but this is one of his favourites.

The sun has just set, the sky painted a burning orange before it fades to sweet lilac and then night, stars beginning to brighten in the sky, and you haven't stopped smiling since he'd pulled out of the parking lot of that god awful party. His darling parents were being progressive with none too subtle purpose, and while both you and he loved their ongoing support, sometimes it was a bit much. More than a bit much. It was suffocating.

But he has no phone service out here, only you beside him with the map he keeps under the seat, pointing out a quaint town an hour away with some kind of hotel situation, and his hand on your thigh. The radio is loud and bright, though you still complain about the CD player in his car -

"I spent good money on a tape deck that works, bought actual, brand new tapes -"

"Where the hell did you get those?" He laughed, but was endeared by your efforts, even as you talked over him, pointedly ignoring him.

"- made you a whole mixtape, and you went and replaced the take deck in your card with a bloody CD player!" You threw your hands in the air in mock dismay.

"I had the CD player put in when dad gave me the car," Felix half smiles, glancing at you for just a moment out of the corner of his eye, "years ago," he reminds you. Seeing the way you're trying so hard to keep up your show off being miffed, despite the sheepish smile curling at the edge of your lips, he gives your thigh a squeeze and looks back at the road.

Slowly, you uncross your arms, sitting back in your seat with a faint, playful pout. When you rest your hand on his, it's warm.

"Made a whole proper cover for it and everything, to put in that plastic cover-thingy they all come in."

"I know," Felix agrees, "I like how you styled the track list on the back," he can't help but smile, picturing it in his mind, "and it's a good set of songs."

He loves the goofy smile he knows you're wearing without even having to turn and look at you. Something about how genuinely you've always reacted to his praise has always warmed his heart; you'd always had a knack for telling his performative, placating praise from his sincerity. He's known you too long and too well by now to offer anything but sincerity when you both know it's rightfully deserved.

"I'll buy you a car with a tape deck just so we can listen to my road trip mix," you say it so casually that he's not quite sure if you're joking. But then you pet his hand, laughter ringing out from you, into the perfect Summer night, "kidding, Fi; I made it for you, listen to it wherever or whenever you want," he catches your easygoing shrug out of the corner of his eye, "or never. No skin off my nose." For a few moments, you distract yourself, tapping out inconsistent beats along his fingers, the back of his hand -

"Unless you want a car with a tape deck," this time he's sure it's not a joke. Its as casual as if you'd offered to simply buy him a beer, no real larger thoughts behind the offer. No part of you is performing the way anyone else would; not trying to bribe, or buy, or placate, or charm, or flaunt your wealth;

"You've just now reminded me why my parents are so adamantly pro-Gay Marriage," Felix couldn't help his laughter, and you sat back, watching the road ahead with a wry smile.

"Your parents are so adamantly pro-Gay Marriage because they desperately want me to pick if I'm to be legally recognised as one or the other, so they can marry me off right now to either you or your sister, but are too deep in their support of me to feel comfortable asking that," you turn to look at him with something forlorn in your eyes despite the smile on your lips, and Felix, despite how much he loved his parents, also knew you were absolutely right.

"No matter where in the world I am," Felix grins, as the lights of the town ahead begin to glow in the distance, "the minute -the absolute moment- mum finds out the two of us can legally get married, I bet you I get a call telling me to come home so she and dad can give me the family ring," and beside him, you're cackling with laughter just picturing it, "at three in the morning, I'll be in Australia or some place, high as fuck in the bush or something, and I'll have to deal with mum acting like she hasn't been plotting this arranged marriage shit for years!"

And the two of you laugh, because you're barely twenty, and the idea of a future beyond your youthful hedonism is overwhelming if you don't laugh about it. Politics, and real world issues, and the future neither of you want to think about, are all absurd, and laughable, and easy to push to the back of your minds. Like the cassette mixtape Felix keeps in his glove box even without a tape deck, because he knows he'll never lose it there.

You take Felix's hand from your thigh as you lace your fingers with his.

And you laugh.

And neither of you knows if it's because the idea of getting married feels preposterous, or maybe a little inevitable.

[solar-sunnyside-up]

hey! sorry to bother you, but is there anything a teen without transportation in a rural area can do on their own? im pretty isolated, and theres barely anything around me.

Hey ya sprout 🌱

**A disclaimer Punk comes with some risk socially. Particularly if your in a rural area this risk goes up bc people Know You and also typically these spaces have a different vibe to alt ppl in general. Some activities are more or less risky and I'll try and do my best to give you a range of stuff from the whole spectrum! Of course this is a generalization of rural areas. Some palaces will be more cool then others depending in so many factors I couldn't go into here**

Rural solarpunk

Your gunna been to pick a topic, sorry babe. In order to not burn yourself out and in order to feel like you have an impact your gunna have to pick a cause to chip away at but I'll give you ideas! And remember just bc your focusing on one thing doesn't mean your ignoring or not helping others. Everything is interconnected and any help, helps all!

So let's give you some ideas to focus on:

Libraries- as a teen in particular you'll have access to a library at school, but depending on how big your town is you might have a public one as well. Become their biggest supporter! They are a great safe space, even conservative ones are still a good place to go for archiving/loitering purposes. They give you spaces to print stuff, to build clubs and community.

Archiving- if you cannot leave your house due to access you can always do stuff online and hear me out, i know when we do stuff online it feels like half points. Like we arent doing anything. I feel that with this blog, it feels so passive no matter how hard you work youll feel lesser. But Archiving is vital to humans! Think of the anthropologists wholl thank you down the road! Plus it does actually give you a way to have a physical representative of work your doing. Dvds, pirating media and archiving them to drives, collecting vinyls/tapes/cds!

DIY- To fight against fast fashion (although that barely exists in the towns I've been in tbh) and to stick out** you could make your own patches, battlejackets, gloves, etc.. They are statement pieces you can wear whenever your in town/at school/social spaces that ppl know what you stand for and who you are. Depending on who/where you are this might be risky so take what you can bare ok? You don't have to wear these items too you can just make them for later on!

Little libraries/little pantries- in a rural space you have more Gruella tactics you can take if you do them in random abandoned spaces. You could build a waterproof little pantry and stock it and leave info somewhere about it for ppl to drop off/pick up items. Stock it with mittens! With canned goods! With books! You might be able to do a space like this at school/library depending in how cool your town is too!

Zines- You could look into making a zine and even if it's digital you could have the QR code for download in places (stickers on lamp posts, flyers in school bathrooms, hidden in a churches pamphlet stacks >.>) making a zine is a cool task that is time consuming and informative and fun!

Vandalism- like I said you can often print off stuff at Libraries, or usually you can find a place to print stuff off near or at post offices depending on how modern your rural space is. if you have your own printer this will reduce your risk by quite a bit though! Create/find stickers or posters you want to toss across town or even school. I'd recommend starting off with some stickers and see how their handled, dipping your toes is important with these kinda things. If your really feeling it, and you know some abandoned places Moss Graffiti is also a good option! I've know ppl who have converted old abandoned stored to skate parks (I honestly have no idea how they built the ramps out of concrete but damn!! Good job guys!)

Also I'll leave you with 2 book recommendations as well-

Moxie - a RIOT GRRRL story about a girl who gets so fed up with her conservative town she makes a feminist zine and distributes it via girl bathrooms (even having a basically me too stickers and encouraging ppl to put it on boys lockers who have assaulted them). I know there's a movie, didn't seem to capture the same vibe tho so book!

Braiding Sweetgrass - this focuses a lot on reconnecting and adding story to nature around us and having science along side spirituality

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 14

WIP Wednesday is happening this week! I would've had it up an hour or two ago, but I ended up having to run an emergency errand for my mom to keep her friend's car from being towed. But it's all been taken care of!

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Note: Anyone who still doesn't know which episode I'm basing this arc on should know by the end of this segment. I did realize I made a mistake, though. The invading ghosts are Walker's guards. In the episode, up to this point the trio never refer to them as such. The audience, however, sees Walker send them in. I took that as Danny and co didn't realize they were Walker's people. But as I was going through minute-by-minute while writing, Danny does call them Walker's goons. So he knew the entire time. I'm adjusting that going forward and I'll retroactively make the edits before posting to AO3.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.7k

-----

Everyone left Sam’s house at the same time. The Amity crowd had to get to school and no one felt comfortable staying at Sam’s house while she wasn’t home. As they ate a quick breakfast, Tim noticed Conner’s fingernails were painted.

“Looks good, Kon,” he commented.

“Thanks,” said Sam. “I did them last night while you and Danny were sleeping. Introduced him to actual music, too.”

Conner grinned. “She’s promised to burn me some CDs before we go.”

“A mixed tape is the only valid way to share music,” Sam agreed. “And if he’s gonna rock the punk look, he should know the punk culture, too.”

Tim laughed. “Well, looks like we know what we’ll be listening to on the way home. Will you need a CD player, Kon?”

“Is my laptop not good enough?”

Tim clicked his tongue. “Come to Gotham with me. I know I have an old one lying around. Nothing like listening to a CD while lying somewhere, wired headphones tangling up as you shift position. If you want the authentic experience, that’s the only way to go.”

Conner shrugged, clearly unsure. “If you say so.”

Danny yawned. “You’re giving him Dumpty Humpty, right?”

Sam snorted. “Am I giving him Dumpty Humpty? Who do you think I am? Of course I am!”

“Good. You can’t introduce someone to good music and leave out Dumpty Humpty.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, you’ve gotten me into them. They’re fun. You’ll like them, Kon.”

“You played a song or two by them last night, right?” Conner asked.

Cassie nodded. “Yep. That’s who she was playing when Tucker, Bart, and I left to get some sleep in the other room.”

“Ah, yeah. That’s right. I liked them.”

“Of course you did,” said Sam as she flicked her hair. “I have excellent taste.”

Tucker was typing away on his PDA. “So what’ll you be doing while we’re in school?”

Tim grimaced. “I was thinking of hitting up the local library. We want to learn more about the ghosts. But also B has said that a condition of allowing me to extend my trip is that I keep up with my own schoolwork. So I have some catch up to do.”

Danny waved his spoon at him. “And you get on me for not doing my work.”

“Yeah, but you want to graduate and, like, go to college and shit. The stuff I want to do doesn’t require a diploma of any kind. B’s just making me do it because he society has convinced him it’s important.”

Tucker’s PDA alarm went off. “And that alarm means if we’re not out the door in five minutes, we’re gonna be late.”

Everyone groaned as they pushed away from the table and collected their belongings. The walk into town was filled with music discussion. Bart and Conner mostly listened and took note of recommended bands and musicians. Sam tended to know the most obscure stuff, but Tim knew some foreign bands from his time in Europe that no one else had heard of.

The walk was, thankfully, not disturbed by ghosts, but Danny’s ghost sense did go off several times.

“Didn’t your parents make a device that can track ghosts?” asked Tim the third time he complained. “Would that help you locate them?”

Danny hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe, I’ll have to see if I can find it. My parents stopped using it when it kept zeroing in on me. It was too loud for stealth use, though, and loudly went off anytime I was in range. And it didn’t work great for a 3D environment. So Tucker and I would have to develop a new display that can tell me if one is above or below me.”

“I should be able to help, too. You know how good I am with computers.”

“If I can find the device or blueprints, I’ll take you up on that.”

Not long after, they had to say goodbye at the entrance to Caspar High. Dash and his friends also arrived at about the same time. The group stared at Danny, but didn’t move to interact.

“Think they’re still overshadowed?” asked Conner, mirroring Tim’s thoughts.

“God, I hope not,” said Danny.

“But knowing our luck…” Sam trailed off.

Tim sighed. “Keep your distance as much as possible.”

“I know, mom.” Danny rolled his eyes. The school bell rang and he adjusted his backpack strap. “Gotta go. Have fun at the library.” His sarcasm was very evident and he hugged Tim.

The gesture surprised him and his return hug was slightly delayed. “I think I’ll find more than enough to amuse me there.”

With a quick goodbye, the trio rushed off before they could be late.

“So,” said Cassie, “Sam and Tucker seem to have a ton of ideas about you and Danny.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Danny and I only met in person less than forty-eight hours ago.”

Bart nudged him. “And yet you’re already sleeping in the same bed and giving each other goodbye hugs.”

“I do the same with you guys.” He pulled out his phone to check the location of the library. “Come on, let’s just get to the library. I want to see if they have a digital subscription to the local paper we can use.”

Tim didn’t get much schoolwork done that morning, but he did find out Danny was originally named Inviso-Bill by the press and immediately began planning ways to prank him with that knowledge.

For the rest, he compared what was reported vs what had actually happened with past ghost attacks. One thing was clear, Danny needed much better PR. Hopefully being seen working with the Young Justice would help. And maybe Sam would actually listen if he tried to give pointers on how to manage public perception.

Shortly after noon and before Tim could even pretend he was about to switch over to school work, his phone rang.

“Hey, Danny. What’s up?”

“Tim! Do any of you speak Esperanto?”

“Uh… I don’t. Let me ask Bart.” He lowered the phone to ask.

“Esperanto? What’s that?” asked Bart.

“I’ll explain later,” said Tim. Back into the phone, he added, “Doesn’t look like it. Why? What’s going on?”

“So… You remember that wolf ghost with the collar? Walker’s goons are after him, too. I’m not sure why since he only speaks Esperanto. I got him away from both them and my parents. Think you can keep him safe until school is out? If I miss any more class I’ll be grounded until graduation. Senior graduation.”

Tim gestured to his friends to pack everything up. “Yeah, sure. Where are you right now? I’ll have Bart meet you first and the rest of us will follow.”

Danny gave him directions to a forested area behind the school which Tim relayed to Bart. As soon as the group was out of the library, Bart rushed ahead to Danny.

Over the phone, Danny let him know Bart had arrived. “Oh, and Tucker just got here, too. Excellent. He can speak Esperanto as well. Looks like he’s explaining things to big and hairy over here.”

“Great. We’ll be there soon as we can.”

“Can we fly there?” asked Conner.

Cassie nodded. “People would just think we’re more ghosts.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Superboy and Wonder Girl were seen in town just last night. No.”

Conner stuck his tongue out at him. “Spoilsport.”

“Relax. It’s not far. GPS has us in the general location in, like, ten minutes.”

“Fine, fine,” sighed Cassie. “We’ll be good.”

Tim elbowed her with a grin. “Now, I never said you had to do that.”

Conner laughed. “So, what is this Esperanto language, anyway? I haven’t heard of it.”

“It’s a conlang based on European languages that’s supposed to be easy to learn. The idea was to make a sort of common language for Earth without promoting a single language like English. It hasn’t gained a lot of traction, though. And if Bart doesn’t know it, then it likely won’t.”

“Huh, weird. Why do you think a werewolf ghost know an Earth-based conlang?”

“Oooh! I bet it’s because he’s the manifestation of some teenage girl’s OC,” offered Cassie.

Tim laughed. “Or maybe the OC of one of the people to create Esperanto.”

Conner shook his head. “You’ve got this all wrong. He’s from an alternate future where Esperanto did take off and a werewolf virus spread among humans.”

The ten minute walk was filled with more and more outlandish theories ending with the wolf being the reincarnation of Jesus who was trying to bring humanity together through the reinstitution of a common language like in the pre-Tower-of-Babel days.

At the edge of the woods, Tim nudged Conner. “Can you hear where they are?”

“Yep. Follow me.”

And then it was less than two minutes before Tim could see them. “Oi! Danny!” he called out with a wave.

Danny flew over to them and hugged him. “Thank you so much! You’re gonna save me so many detentions.” He grabbed Tim’s hand and pulled him towards Tucker and the ghost. “Tim, this is Wulf. Wulf,” Danny said while making eye contact, “Friends.” Then he slowly pointed to each person and said their name.

Tucker rolled his eyes and repeated the information in Esperanto. Tim recognized his and his teammates names and many of the words felt familiar. Likely since he knew or was learning a few European languages.

“So, will we just hang out here for the next few hours until you get out of school?” asked Tim.

“Yeah. It’ll only be about two and a half hours. That okay? Then we’ll go back to Sam’s place. We can hide in her basement.”

“We’ve hung out in worse places for longer,” said Bart. “This is practically cozy. And me or one of the others can run into town for food and supplies. Anything you want from your parent’s place? Food? Snacks?”

Tucker grinned. “If you could get some jerky, that’d be great. No meat at Sam’s.”

Danny laughed. “If we think of anything else, one of us will text it to the group chat.”

An alarm buzzed on Tucker’s PDA. “We’ve got to get back now.”

“Shit. Okay. I’ll fly us back. Bye Tim, everyone!” Danny picked up Tucker and flew away, turning invisible before he was more than a few yards away.

-----

Next

So, more banter and more plot! We're almost starting to get somewhere! This marks roughly the halfway point of the episode. And the arc is almost 25k words. This is why I take forever to publish anything. It always spirals out of my control. Even this section, I originally opened with them in the library. But then I remembered I wanted to have Sam paint Conner's nails and that led to me adding over 900 words to the beginning.

I no longer do tag lists for this fic, but if you make your way to the subscription post, you can set it up so you get notified when this updates.

[manheeiim]

chapter three: fill your holes

-- a ghostly love masterlist

The next day, I stood in the hallway in front of the little memorial they had started for me in the main entrance of the school. It was a large table with a framed photo of me, flowers surrounding it. Some people from my team were looking at the photo and talking but I just stood there, not really listening to exactly what they were saying.

“Hey.” I hear and I glance over to see Wally standing next to me, I hadn’t even realized he came over.

“Hey.” I say back.

“Are those your friends?” He asked me. 

“Uh… kind of.” I say.

“Just people on your team?” Wally then asks and I nod. “Yeah, I get that.”

“I still haven’t seen my best friend yet today.” I told him.

“Oh, well, maybe she’s taking the day off from school. I mean, if my best friend died, I wouldn’t want to go to school.” Wally says.

I think for a moment, “True.”

“See, I’m pretty insightful.” Wally says in a cocky manner and I just look at him, rolling my eyes. “If you ever need anyone to talk to, to help fill any holes in your memory, or just to hang with, I’m here. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” He then tells me.

I blush a little, “Thank you.” I say, finding it very sweet.

“Yep. I can totally help you fill your holes.” He says and I smile a little wider, biting my bottom lip.

“Um…” I say and he realizes how that came off.

“Um, okay. I obviously did not mean for it to come off that way. In my head my head, it was more of, like, a metaphoric..” He trails off. “I mean, I can help you figure things out, if you need it.” He then says, correcting himself. 

“Well, thank you.” I say, smiling. 

A smirk forms on his face, “If you want me to fill your holes though I’m totally down.” He then adds.

“Oh my god!” I gasp and slap his arm but I can’t help the fact that my cheeks got hot and the smile that formed on my lips. “I take back my thanks.” I say.

“Yeah, yeah.” Wally says, a cocky smile on his face.

“I don’t think I want to do that with someone who looks like they’re headed to aerobics class.” I comment.

“I mean, I’m glad I had this in my locker, actually, or else I would’ve been rocking shoulder pads.” Wally tells me. “Which would’ve been really bad because I think those are out now.” He says.

“Definitely.” I agree.

“I do wish I brought my walkman to school that day.” Wally says and I nod.

“That’d be nice, but would you really want to listen to the same songs forever?” I ask.

“Depends on what cassette tape.” He responds.

“I get that. I have burned a lot of CDs and I think my willingness to listen to the same one forever would depend on the CD.” I told him.

That’s when I remembered that I’d left my backpack in the field last night after my failed attempt to leave the school grounds. “I… I left my bag in the field.” I say, about to head to get it but I’m stopped by Wally grabbing my arm and stopping me.

“It’s not there anymore. It’s wherever you left it last.” Wally tells me.

“What.. how do you know that?” I ask.

“Because we can’t change anything in their world. If we touch or move something, nothing happens in their world.” He explains.

“Oh.” I think for a moment. “I’m… going to my backpack then.” I say.

“Why? Do you need something?” Wally asks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “A cigarette.” I say.

<3

I sit on the bleachers with Wally right next to me. I have a cigarette in my mouth and Wally has one as well. “I only ever smoked on special occasions.” Wally tells me. “I didn’t really do it a lot.” He says.

“I only ever did it when I was stressed. Which wasn’t much at first but recently, it was more often.” I say. Wally nods but says nothing, “I can’t believe I’m dead.” I think out loud. “I just.. don’t know how to even feel about all of this.” I add.

“I felt the same.” Wally tells me.

“Should I be happy or sad, I don’t even know anymore.” I say.

“You have time to figure that out.” Wally tells me and I nod. “Like… forever.” Wally says.

“Has anyone ever… like, passed over or whatever?” I ask him.

“One person; Janet.” Wally tells me. “That’s what Mr. Martin told us.” He says.

“Wow.” Is all I could say. It’s silent for a bit. “So you’ve been here for 20 years now.” I say.

“Yep, it’s coming up. My 20 year death-versary.” Wally nods.

“That’s a long time.” I say.

“Mr. Martin’s been here longer, and Rhonda.” He says, defending himself with a cocky smile. I laugh.

“Okay, okay.” I laugh. “But you have been here for a longer time than Charley.” I told him.

“True, that’s true.” He nods. “But, whatever.” He shrugs. “We just have to.. make the most of it.” Wally says. 

“I guess so.” I say.

<3

Later in the day, I walk into the gymnasium, to see everyone sitting in the circle of chairs. As I’m walking over, Wally looks over to me for a moment before looking at the ceiling. I could hear Rhonda talking.

“Who am I supposed to trust? My guidance counselor was supposed to help me. Said I had it, what it’d take to make it out of here, you know? He just sent me six feet under.” I heard Rhonda say as she chuckled to herself.

I furrow my eyebrows, she was murdered by her guidance counselor? Wow. I don’t say anything as I sit down.

“Welcome back, Lucia.” Mr. Martin greets me. “We just.. got a bit derailed while having a discussion on literature.” He tells me and I just slowly nod. 

“I’m so jealous that you can just laugh at it.” I tell Rhonda. “You’re death, I mean.”

“What? You want me to cry, cheerleader?” She asks, taking the lollipop out of her mouth.

My eyes furrow once again, she was making it really hard to be nice. 

“Okay. You just gotta try and think about it as encouraging.” Wally says, answering my question for Rhonda. “Like, at some point, you’ll be able to laugh about what happened to you.” He tells me.

“I hope so.” I say.

“You might not, but look. The whole point is that either way, holding onto the past, what happened, what didn’t, anything really, can only hold you back.” Mr. Martin tells me.

“Hold me back from what?” I respond, feeling hopeless. 

“Eventually, passing over.” Mr. Martin answers.

“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.” Rhonda quotes.

Before I could respond, the gym door opened and a bunch of people walked inside. I was confused about what was going on. “Um,” I look over at Wally without even thinking. “I think it’s your memorial.” He tells me.

As people gathered inside, I could see my mom through the crowd. She’s wearing all black, her hair and makeup done perfectly. I didn’t get it. I didn’t get her.. ever. She had a handkerchief in her hand and she used it to dab away her tears.

“What the fuck.” I say, feeling a sudden surge of annoyance.

“Is that your mom?” Charley asks.

“Yep.” I responded, clicking my tongue as I looked at the ground.

“Thank you all for coming.” I hear the principal say and I look up. “As you know, we are here to spread awareness about the death of Lucia _______.” He says.

I hear a muffled cry and I look over to see Chloe standing in the corner of the crowd, using her sweatshirt sleeve to cry into. 

“We have a few words from Lucia’s mom.” The principal then says, causing me to look over.

My mom stepped in front of the podium so that she could speak into the microphone. She lets out a cry before dabbing her cheeks with the handkerchief again. I don’t bother getting up, just watching from my seat  “I’m Lucia’s mom.” She says. “I… I can’t believe that Lucia’s no longer here with us. All mom’s know that you never want to see your child die before you.” She says. “I miss her, I miss her so much.” She adds and I can’t help but feel my heart warm up. Wow, she was actually being sweet for once. 

“Lucia’s favorite thing in the world was cheerleading. She begged me to sign her up in Elementary school and had done it ever since. I remember her being so happy that she got on the team here at Seabrook high. I just.. wish she could’ve gotten to the end of this year, finished up her highschool cheer career because she deserved that.” My mom then says.

I’m taken aback, honestly, and it showed in my face. The warm feeling in my heart had disappeared. That was all a total lie. I never wanted to cheer, my mom had signed me up on her own accord in Elementary school and forced me to do it for the rest of my school career. I wasn’t happy that I’d gotten into cheer here in freshman year. In fact, I was mad.. enraged, actually. I had purposely done bad at the tryouts but of course, my mom knew the coach and the coach told her and I was forced to redo the tryouts while putting my full effort in, and, well, I got in.

“I just.. I hope that you all remember the wonderful girl that she was.” My mom finishes off her speech before stepping away.

Everyone was looking at me, waiting to see what my reaction was. “We’re here for you, Lucia. Really.” Charley tells me. “Thanks.” I bitterly say before getting up and walking out of the room, I couldn’t bear to see my mother’s face right now. Even if it meant that I never saw her again.

[sweethoneyrose83]

90s-inspired dialogue prompts

"Dude, did you hear? The new Nirvana album just dropped. We have to hit the record store before it sells out!"

"I swear, if I don’t beat this level in Mario, I’m throwing the controller across the room!"

"You've got mail! Wait, hold on, my dial-up is still connecting."

"Why would you spend $50 on a pager? Just call me on my landline, duh!"

"Have you seen the new episode of Friends? I need to talk about Ross and Rachel!"

"I'm telling you, AOL chat rooms are where it's at. You can meet people from anywhere!"

"Whatever. As if! Like I’m gonna wear that to the mall."

"Let’s meet up at Blockbuster later. I’m thinking about renting Clueless again."

"I just recorded that new song off the radio onto my mixtape. It's going to be on repeat all day."

"Mom said we could use the car, but we have to rewind the VHS before we return it!"

"No way. I heard they're working on something called a DVD. I don't get it. Why change VHS?"

"The Tamagotchi is dying again. I don't know how many times I can save this thing."

"I just got my first Walkman. CDs sound so much better than cassettes!"

"We should totally prank call that radio station and request Backstreet Boys for the hundredth time."

"Okay, I got a quarter—I'm gonna use the payphone and see if anyone wants to hang out."

"I'm recording TRL later. I can't miss that new Britney Spears music video."

"What do you mean you don’t have a MySpace account? It’s, like, the thing right now."

"If my parents pick up the phone while I’m online, it’s going to cut me off. Don’t call the house!"

"I just burned you a CD with all the best songs from the radio. You’re going to love it!"

"If this Y2K thing actually messes up our computers, I’m never trusting technology again."

"Dude, you won’t believe what I just found at Blockbuster!"

"No way! Did they finally get 'The Matrix' in stock?"

"Why do you always hog the phone line? I’ve been waiting for my AOL dial-up for like, forever!"

"Chill out, I’m trying to finish this important call on my pager."

"Man, you’re dressed like you just walked out of a Nirvana concert."

"It’s called grunge, bro. You wouldn’t understand."

"I’m telling you, Tamagotchis are like, the future."

"Yeah, if the future is taking care of a digital pet all day."

"I just taped the season finale of ‘Friends,’ wanna come over and watch it?"

"As long as there’s pizza, I’m in. Could I be any more excited?"

"My Tamagotchi just died because I was too busy playing with my new Game Boy Color!"

"You need to get your priorities straight."

"Can you believe they canceled 'Saved by the Bell'? Zack and Kelly forever, man."

"Yeah, but the new season of 'Fresh Prince' is all that."

"I just bought a stack of CDs, now my Discman’s set for the road trip."

"As long as you don’t hit a bump and make it skip!"

"I got an email from this girl I met in a chatroom last night."

"Email? You should’ve just asked for her AIM screen name."

"I heard they're coming out with something called a DVD next year."

"Pfft, like that’ll replace my VHS collection."

At the Mall:

Character 1: "Dude, if we don’t get to the food court soon, I’m gonna pass out. I need a slice of Sbarro pizza, stat!"

Character 2: "Chill, we'll get there. But first, I’m grabbing this Nirvana shirt—Kurt would want me to have it."

Dial-Up Drama:

Character 1: "I was this close to beating my high score on Pac-Man, and then someone picked up the phone and killed the connection!"

Character 2: "Ugh, the struggle is real. Why do we even have one line for the internet and the phone?"

Movie Night:

Character 1: "Blockbuster was out of Jurassic Park again! I had to settle for Space Jam."

Character 2: "As if that’s a problem! Michael Jordan and Looney Tunes? That’s a classic, man!"

Mixtape Meltdown:

Character 1: "I made you this mixtape—front to back, all the jams you love."

Character 2: "Wait, you recorded over my TLC album? You’re gonna be scrubs to me forever!"

School Day Crush:

Character 1: "He passed me a note in history class! I swear, it's love."

Character 2: "Let me see that… it just says 'Wanna hang at the arcade later?' So romantic…"

First Cell Phone:

Character 1: "Dude, check it out, I finally got a cell phone!"

Character 2: "That’s not a cell phone, it’s a brick! You gonna carry that in your backpack?"

The Internet:

Character 1: "I just spent an hour downloading one song on Napster. Totally worth it."

Character 2: "Better hope the FBI doesn’t show up at your door. They take that stuff seriously."

Fashion Emergency:

Character 1: "What’s up with the butterfly clips and platform shoes? Are you going for the full Spice Girls look?"

Character 2: "You say that like it’s a bad thing. Girl Power is forever."

After School TV:

Character 1: "Hurry up! Fresh Prince is on in like five minutes!"

Character 2: "Not until I’m done watching Sailor Moon, this episode’s a big deal!"

Computer Lab Chaos:

Character 1: "Why does this computer keep freezing? I’ve got to finish my PowerPoint for tomorrow."

Character 2: "You’re probably running too many programs. Close Oregon Trail before you get another 'Your ox has died' message."

[colorisbyshe]

I miss the intimacy of cd burning culture. Not even necessarily the mix tape aspect, like, even when you were flat out just making a copy of a cd and giving it to a friend, it felt meaninful. I feel like something is lost without the physicality of “I heard this and thought you might like it.”

The transience of just linking someone to a song or playlist lacks a certain je ne sais quoi. God, especially remembering when people would actually print out a copy of the album cover and carefully fold it to put in the jewel case. Or when people crafted their own handmade collages for mix tapes. Just the thought of someone taking their time and carefully making something for someone else…

I miss it :/ And this isn’t one of those “You could still do it if you want to, there’s nothing to miss!!” posts because like… so many people flat out do not have cd drives. I can’t just decide to do this anyways and have it hit the same way. It’s in many ways a lost art.

[fandomsnstuff]

@taznovembercelebration

Day 3: bakery au/playlist

Kravitz gives Taako a gift and gets invited to a party

Read it on AO3

Kravitz stands pressed against the brick wall outside the bakery, out of view of the large stretch of front windows. He drums his fingers on the plastic case in his hands.

This is. Insane. Taako's working. He's almost always been working when they see each other. What on Earth made him think that making him a mixtape in cd form, cassette form, and spotify form (just in case he doesn't have a way to play the other two) would be appropriate?

Sure, they see each other every day when Kravitz comes in for a sweet treat. And Taako flirts with him over the counter every time, and loiters around the little table he sits at by the window to talk to him more. Then of course there was that time they ran into each other at the grocery store and stood in the aisle talking for at least 30 minutes. And the time they ran into each other at the movies and went for dinner and a walk after. Then Taako gave him his number the next day when he came in for a danish, and they text almost every day. Taako even joked that they were meant to be when they found out that Kravitz's old college roommate is his brother in law.

But a mixtape? What is this, 1986?

But here he is, with an hour and a half of music he carefully curated for Taako in three different forms. At this point he can't not give it to him.

He takes a deep breath and walks into the bakery. The bell above the door jingles and Taako doesn't even look up from where he's loading some fresh cookies into the display. "I was wondering how long you were gonna stand out there."

Kravitz freezes. "You could see-"

"Sure could." Taako comes up and leans against the counter, smiling smugly. "Whatcha got there?"

Kravitz hides the tape and cd behind his back, his face burning. "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing." Kravitz takes a very sudden interest in the wall behind Taako. "Tell you what," Taako says, drawing Kravitz's eyes back to him like a magnet, "I'll trade you. You show me what made you stand outside my place of business for 10 minutes, and I give you one of my new ginger molasses cookies, on the house."

Kravitz eyes the cookies in question. They do look good, perfect picturesque cracks on top, sugar on the outside glistening like crystal. And Taako's cookies are always perfectly crunchy on the edges and soft in the middle.

"They just came out of the oven," he says tauntingly, "still warm."

The unfortunate thing is that Kravitz can be bought. Especially with baked goods. "I, um," his heart is still racing, but he approaches the counter, "this is so dumb, but I," he laughs, embarrassed, and presents the gifts, "I made you a mixtape? You mentioned that you've been listening to the same music when you bake since you started working here, and maybe you want to, but I just thought you might like… another option." Taako's very good at keeping his composure, but his eyebrows have raised. Kravitz hopes that's good surprised and not incredulous, bad surprised. "I didn't know what you have to play music so, uh, yeah."

A beat of silence passes, then Taako barks a laugh. He picks up the cassette and flips it over, reading the tracks. "Hozier, ACDC, Taylor Swift," his voice rises in pitch as he reads out the artists, "My Chemical Romance, Ed Sheeran, The Backstreet Boys, Nickleback-" he cackles, "you're a freak, Krav, this fucks."

Kravitz laughs. "You said you like variety."

"Well I've certainly got it now." He puts the tape down and walks back to the display, grabbing a paper bag and a pair of tongs. "I think I owe you two cookies for this."

"You don't have to-"

"Too late!" He packages up two ginger cookies and hands the bag over to him. "No take-backsies."

"Thank you." He takes his treat and sits at his table by the window, watching Taako as he takes his new music into the back, and a moment later the song playing over the speakers stops and Take Me to Church starts.

Taako isn't able to stop and talk to him a lot, he putters around, filling the display case, cleaning, helping other people who come in. When Kravitz is on his way out, Taako calls out, "hey, Krav!" He turns, and Taako says, "do you want to go to a party?"

"Like, in general?"

"No, I'm- there's going to be a party this weekend. With my friends. Barold will be there. Do you want to come?"

"Oh," other than Barry, he hasn't met Taako's friends, "I wouldn't want to intrude on your friends."

"Well," Taako scoffs and crosses his arms, "it's my birthday party so I can do whatever I want and they can deal."

Kravitz's eyes widen. "It's your birthday? I had no idea-"

"You wouldn't. Anyway, you in?"

"Yeah, yes, for sure."

"Cool. I'll text you."

Taako texts him later that day with an address and a time for the coming Saturday. He asks if he should bring anything, and Taako's response of "just your handsome self" makes his heart do somersaults. He considers getting Taako a gift, but he made him a mixtape. Maybe he already considers that his gift. He thinks about bringing wine, but he knows Taako's pretty particular about his wine pairings. The idea of flowers goes straight out the window, that'd be too much.

He follows Taako's instructions and just brings himself. There's food and desserts set out, including a cake that's been pre-cut so people can just grab and go. He asks Taako, "no candles?"

He snorts. "Trust me, you don't want to hear these fuckers sing."

The party itself is… fine. Taako's friends are welcoming, and include him in conversation and games. But there's a history and camaraderie here that he's very clearly not a part of. Of course it's Taako's party, so he can do what he wants, but Kravitz feels like he shouldn't be here.

Taako sticks around in his general vicinity for the most part, which Kravitz is grateful for. It reminds him that he was actually invited. But at some point Taako gets dragged off to do god knows what, and Kravitz takes the opportunity to step outside.

The cool night air is refreshing. He takes a deep breath and sits in one of the patio chairs. A minute later, the sliding door opens and Barry steps out. He sits in the chair next to him, "you okay, bud?"

He shrugs. "Yeah." Barry gives him a sympathetic look that somehow makes him want to spill his guts. Kravitz sighs, "it's just- I'm glad that Taako invited me, but it just feels like- everybody's nice and all, but you've known each other for so long, maybe it'd have been better if his birthday party was just his closest friends, you know?"

Barry snorts. "Sorry, I'm not laughing at you, but," he chuckles and shakes his head, "do you know how Taako normally celebrates his birthday?"

His brow furrows. "He has a party? Has all his friends come and give him presents?"

"No. He lets Lup buy him dinner and that's it. He never wants a party or cake. I'm not even allowed to know where they're going for dinner." He leans in close and lowers his voice, "this party didn't exist until he invited you to it."

"Then…" he looks back through the glass of the sliding door, where Taako's scrambling to get out of Magnus's arms like an indignant cat while Merle loudly sings Happy Birthday, "why?"

Barry looks a little smug. "I have a few ideas."

"Like what?"

He shrugs and stands, clapping a hand on Kravitz's shoulder. "I'll see you in there."

"Wha- Barry!"

But he's already gone back inside.

The Monday after the party, Kravitz is sitting at his table in the bakery, daydreaming out the window when a slice of confetti cake is set down in front of him. Taako sits across from him with his own slice of confetti cake that has a purple candle sticking out of it. He takes a lighter out of his pocket and seem to light and blow out the candle in one go. He picks up the fork on his plate and digs into the cake. Kravitz picks up his own fork and tentatively takes a bite.

"I hear Barold spilled the party beans to you," Taako says after a long silence. He's deconstructing the layers of cake with his fork.

"Party beans?" Kravitz says eloquently.

Taako huffs. "Party beans! The beans about the party!" He slumps back in his chair, and scoops a lump of icing into his mouth.

Kravitz doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. They both pick at their cake in silence as Green Day serenades them through the speakers.

"I just never really saw the point," Taako says eventually. "For our entire lives, our birthday was just another day, because we had no money to make a big deal about it. Then we got some money and a couple of friends, and we could make a whole shindig about it. Lup loved it, I didn't really care. I liked planning it for Lup, but I just didn't need it for me. I let her take me to dinner because she insists on doing something."

Kravitz takes a moment, then says, "you deserve to be celebrated, Taako."

"I know," he snaps. "A birthday party's just too much."

"But you love getting attention." He shrugs, still slumped in his seat. Kravitz says, "so why the party now?"

"I wanted to spend time with you, doofus. And a birthday party was the first thing that came to my idiot brain."

"Oh." Kravitz stabs at his cake. "You don't need to throw a party to get me to spend time with you." Taako stays low in his seat, looking at his decimated piece of cake. "Can I take you to dinner?"

Taako finally sits up. "As long as you don't tell the waiters it's my birthday. I've been subjected to too many sparklers and stupid hats."

Kravitz laughs. "I think I can manage that."

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

For the AU question:

Rory + Price record store AU

Thank you for the ask, E! Sorry it took me six months to come up with an idea and answer it. I'm so bad at following through with ask prompts. So this probably isn't exactly what you were looking for when it comes to a record store AU, but it takes place in a record store so I'm considering that as counting. Note: this is inspired heavily by @strangefable and her 80's band au for the 141. I wanted to play in her sandbox with Rory and give Price and her yet another meetcute. Also, this is not my usual Price, this is douchebag divorced dad Price (who I still love btw)

March 1985 - Tower Records, London, UK

The bass seemed to travel through the floor in rhythmic time along with the procession of footsteps in and out of the shop, the London hot spot for music bustling with customers. You Spin Me Round (Like a Record) by Dead or Alive had steadily climbed the charts to reach number one in the UK and was pumping from the store's speaker system while Rory’s fingers carded through the organized shelves of CDs and cassette tapes, her hips swaying gently to the beat. The smell of hairspray was heavy in the air all around her, the chemical sting to the nose meeting with the metallic tang of the aerosol can. Tower Records sat right in the heart of Piccadilly Circus, not far from home, or her work as the host of the morning aerobics show on BBC One - hardly prestigious considering her father had hoped she'd follow in his footsteps as a lawyer, but alas, life had different plans. 

Rory had charm, she had flair, she was one of the most popular segments on Good Morning Britain and it had led her right into the position of host for the Battle of the Bands competition that would be broadcasting that summer. It gave her something to look forward to at least. With her head down, poking through Depeche Mode’s available catalogue, she hadn’t noticed the arm reaching past her and the gruff “‘scuse me, darlin’” as a large hand reached for the latest Danzig album, his other coming to rest on the small of her back. “Oi!” She turned to meet piercing blue eyes, ready to give their owner a piece of her mind as she stood, hand held to her hip and her jaw set tight. “Sorry, love.” Raising his hands in surrender, the cheeky smirk that curled his mouth brought forth dimples from behind a forest of dark brown whiskers that made him look like some sort of lumberjack, standing in stark opposition to the loose powder blue suit he wore, something akin to what Don Johnson would wear on Miami Vice. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Promise,” he rumbled. “Right.” She relaxed back, clearing her throat and turning back to the CDs. “Of course.”

She could feel his stare burning into her, making the tips of her ears and the back of her neck flush. Glancing sideways, she noticed him crossing his arms over his chest, his head tipped to the side appraisingly. 

“Can I help you with something?” The bite wasn’t entirely missing from her posh accent yet.

Eyes narrowing, searching for something in the recesses of his memory, his gaze never faltered. “Do I know you from somewhere, sweetheart? Feel like I’ve seen you before.”

“TV, probably.” Her head tilted to the side slightly as she mentioned her claim to fame nonchalantly.

“You’re on TV? Well –” His mouth scrunched up as he looked her over. “Shouldn’t be too surprised by that, you’re quite the fit l’il bird.”

Rory rolled her eyes and went back to flipping through the CDs she’d already scanned through. “Is that so?”

“Are you one of those video jockeys on Music Box or somethin’?”

“No,” she chuckled and shook her head. “You ever watched Good Morning Britain?”

“In passing, usually have it on as background noise.” He shrugged and skimmed through the CDs, not really paying attention to what was under his fingers, just needing something to keep his hands busy as he shifted his weight on his feet. Giving a little nod in understanding, she pulled out the album Some Great Reward and turned it over to scan the back and the track titles. “I’m the aerobics girl.”

His brow lifted, steely eyes flickered her way and a twitch of his jaw told her he likely already knew that. “See, told ya – fit.”

She fought back the rising need to laugh, biting the plump of her lower lip but to no avail. Her shoulders shook gently as she brushed the loose wave of hair from her eye. “Bloody chancer, you are.”

He leaned back against the shelves, crossing his arms over his chest once more as his eyes twinkled under the fluorescent lights. “Worked though, didn’t it?” 

“Much to my chagrin.”

Holding out his hand to shake, he offered his name, “John Price.”

Cautious at first, she slipped her hand into his, blushing when she noticed how much bigger it was compared to hers. “Rory Sinclair.”

“Pleasure,” he husked with a curt nod. 

Glancing at him once more, Rory tried to make out who he was. The beeper attached to his belt and the Motorola DynaTAC 8000X mobile in his hand throwing her off the scent. Something about him screamed “a bloke who liked to be in control of things”. “And just what exactly does John Price do for a living?” Her curiosity was getting the better of her. It wasn’t often she asked a stranger these sort of questions but the fact that he was rather roguishly charming in his own way made her willing to go that one step further with him.

He grumbled, trying to find the right words. “Talent agent.”

“Pardon?” Her eyes went wide, thoroughly surprised by that drop of information in her lap. He didn’t seem like the type at all. She’d dealt with her fair share being in the broadcasting business.

“I look for new talent. Musicians and the like. Got a band I'm working with right now, as it stands.”

“Is that so?” She joined him in leaning against the shelves, her attention solely focused on him now. “Any specific genre?”

“Lads haven't exactly picked a sound yet. Bassist wears a skull mask and looks like he wants to be a part of Kiss, the lead singer/lead guitarist is a fan of Prince, and the drummer, well – he's bloody Billy Idol from the Highlands.”

Rory giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes crinkling at the corners with his descriptions. “I see what you mean about it not exactly being cohesive.” Her brow rose and she looked rather dubious about the whole thing. “They sound good at least though, yeah?”

“They have their moments.”

“Not exactly selling it.” Her laughing continued, her smile travelling all the way up her face leaving her hazel eyes gleaming. “So you don't see them getting to the top of the pops anytime soon?”

“Maybe, with the right man at the helm.” His chin lifted in an arrogant shift as he flexed his broad shoulders. 

“And I assume that that's you, of course, yeah?” she smirked, unphased by his overconfidence. “And what sort of music do you like?”

“Metal.”

Her gaze darted down to the album in his hands and she snickered. “Hence the Danzig.”

“Exactly.” He bounced on his heels a little, his brow furrowing as he brushed a hand through his hair. “I know it's not exactly what you birds like. It’s hardly that New Romantic shite like on your show.” She knew he wasn’t just a passive observer, and that was the dead giveaway.

“So you have seen it then,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Hardly taken aback by the news, but more than willing to use it as ammunition against him.

“Maybe I have, when I'm sippin’ me tea and reading the news. You know.”

Rory hummed, drenched in skepticism. “Of course.” A high pitched beeping from his belt broke the tension and his stare flickered away from her. “Hold on a tick.” Pressing his chin to his chest, John leaned back and tilted the beeper to check the number on the little screen. He sighed heavily, running his hand over the hair around his mouth, grumbling quietly to himself in a rasp, “What the bloody hell is it now, Mel?”

“Mel?” Rory’s interest was suddenly piqued once more. “Wife or girlfriend?”

“Daughter.”

“You have a daughter?” Her voice pitched up as she continued to interrogate him. He hardly seemed the fatherly type, especially when flirting with a random woman in a shop.

“Daughters – Mel and Sadie.” A low growl stirred in his throat at the thought of the fruits of his loins and the many grey hairs he was sure he had received because of them. “They’re a bloody handful.”

With narrowed eyes, her perceptive nature kicked in and she started to question his intentions all the more. “And you’re sure you aren't just one of those married blokes who takes off his ring before chatting up a girl?”

John’s face turned stony, something cold in his eyes at her doubt. “Do I look like that sorta bloke?”

Lifting a brow, she shrugged. It’s not like she had a lot of evidence one way or the other as it stood currently.

“Divorced, darlin’.”

“Ah, that explains it. Have a bit of an air about you,” she teased, turning back to the albums on display.

“You tryin’ to say I seem like a tosser?”

“Only a bit,” she said with a playful scrunch of her nose. “Besides, you said it, not me.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He barked out a laugh. “You’re a cheeky one.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe I just have a radar for oily producers.”

“Oily?” he echoed in disbelief, eyebrows shooting up his ridged forehead. “Oh, cheers.”

Rory’s laugh rang out once more in the store, unable to stop the sudden snort. His reaction was everything she could ever hope for. Turning her head to look at him, she caught the smile that made the edges of his moustache twitch and curl, the lines on his face all deepening. God, he was handsome. Even if he was a bit of a prick. Her heart fluttered in her chest and it didn’t take long before he leaned in towards her, the smell of cigar smoke and spicy cologne filling her nostrils. 

Cutting the distance between them, a scant space remained where his eyes met hers and they had no interest in losing focus. “And what would you say if this oily beggar decided to take you out for drinks, eh?”

“That’s assuming I even give you my number.”

“You tryin’ t’ tell me you’re not goin’ to?” With a heavy sigh, she reached into her purse and pulled out her address book and a pen. The scrawl of ink followed the click of the thrust device under her thumb as she wrote her number down on one of the empty lines of the Z section. “Seven. Friday night.” Pulling out the scrap of paper, Rory folded it up and tucked it into his pocket like it was a state secret, patting the material of his blazer with her hand. “You’d be foolish not to call.”

“Too bloody right I would be.” Curling a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up and kissed her cheek. “Friday night. See you then, Sinclair.”